Sweets To The Sweet
by Julia451
Summary: One-shot set during Catching Fire. Effie has a nightmare the night before the Quarter Quell begins. Inspired by the scene in the film where Effie cries over seeing Katniss in her bridal gown, reminding me of one of my favorite Shakespeare lines.


The path was lined with the bodies of mutilated children – necks broken, limbs sliced off, blood running in streams down the grass. One instant, the procession was marching through a frozen wasteland; the next, through a barren desert, a swamp, an old stone ruin, a forest – the arenas where they had all been sent to die. They finally stopped in the square of District 12.

Effie smiled brightly at the cameras as she waited for her turn behind Mrs. Everdeen, her daughter, and their cousins. She repeated the speech she'd memorized for the big occasion. Speeches had always come easily to her before, but she'd had trouble preparing this one, for some reason. This time, she'd used one of the escorts' favorite computer programs – you gave it the occasion and some details, and it wrote the perfect speech for your needs. The computer had said the speech it had given her came from some classic play. Wherever it came from, Effie thought it was beautiful. The Capitol would love it.

The Everdeens and Hawthornes had moved on. Effie stepped up to the side of the casket and smiled even more widely at the cameras. She held up the bouquet of red and white roses she was so proud of (she'd been unable to decide which color to use until she had the brilliant idea to just use them both!) so that the cameras had a perfect view of it.

"Sweets to the sweet," Effie said to the cameras, imagining all of Panem hanging on her every word. She savored the spotlight for a second before continuing: "Farewell. I thought thy bride bed to have decked, sweet maid, and not have strewed thy grave."*

Only now did she look down at the body in the coffin for the first time. She wasn't dressed in this year's tribute uniform but in her wedding gown. The once beautiful, pearly white dress was now covered in blood.

One of the tributes was screaming again. Why did they always do that? Didn't they know how much she work she had to do for them every day? Effie started to get up to go remind them she needed her sleep when she realized it wasn't a tribute screaming this time. It was her.

Effie sat up in bed, taking deep breaths the way she'd been taught to ward off nervousness before an appearance. It wasn't working. She supposed such exercises weren't designed for such a situation. But what type of situation was she in, exactly? Did she just have a... a nightmare? It couldn't be. She'd never had a nightmare in her life before. Why now?

_You're just nervous about the Quarter Quell_, she told herself. She'd been under so much more pressure than usual lately. _Now, now, it's just another game, only more fun!_ There would be more press, more sponsors signing up, more interviews – nothing she couldn't handle. Of course, she was still disappointed that her history-making double victory last year hadn't ended in the promised wedding (oh, it would have been so exciting – she'd already started choosing _hors d'oeuvres _for the reception!), but it wasn't a total loss. There was still a good chance her district would win again this year, and even if she didn't, it was no reason to despair. It was rare for any district to win two years in a row. Her double victory would be fresh in everyone's mind for a few years, as would her tributes' performance in this Quarter Quell, whatever the outcome, and then there would be more tributes next year...

Instead of comforting her, the thought made her want to scream again. Effie climbed out of bed and sent for an Avox to bring her some wine. Haymitch would never let her forget it if he found out, but she needed to calm down. The Quell began in the morning, and she needed to be at her best. _Katniss and Peeta will need you_. That thought made her calm herself down, all right.

She paced her bedroom as she drank the wine, trying to imagine how famous she would be if her district _did_ win two years in a row! But when she tried to imagine the victor next to her during the ceremonies, her hand started shaking so badly, she had to put the glass down. Which would she prefer – Katniss or Peeta? Peeta was definitely easier to work with, but Katniss was the more popular and the more likely to win. It suddenly struck Effie that, for either of her victors to win again, they would have to either kill the other or fail to protect the other.

She fell on her knees before the fireplace, trying to reason with herself: _That's the way the games are. That's what you train the tributes to do every year. This is no different._

But it _was_ different this year! _Why?_ She had no answer. She only knew doing her best to save Katniss and Peeta – Katniss, if she had to choose – felt more important than any of the Games she'd played in before. She had to save her! After all, she... she owed it to the Capitol to protect their new favorite... The Capitol had promised her they would live happily ever after! The Capitol had betrayed them all! _The Capitol didn't do this to them alone..._

Effie gripped her head in both hands. She was only doing her duty! The Capitol took good care of its people. If they had to risk Katniss and Peeta dying, it must be for a good purpose. If it was her duty to help Panem celebrate their sacrifice when the time came, she must do so joyfully. _Will Katniss be celebrating?_

"It's not my fault! I couldn't stop them!"

_Who put her there? _Effie looked around the luxurious room, from the beautiful city outside the window to the closet bursting with her beautiful clothes and accessories. It all seemed to be stained with Katniss' blood.

"I'm sorry!" she screamed, not knowing why and not caring why. "I'm sorry! I never meant for it to end this way! I never meant..." She sobbed uncontrollably as the images from her nightmare of Katniss' funeral played over and over again in her mind until she had no tears left or strength to cry them. She hung her head and whispered, "I thought thy bride bed to have decked, sweet maid, and not have strewed thy grave."

* * *

*Shakespeare, William. _Hamlet_. 5.1.245, 47-48. Signet Classics, 1998.


End file.
